The Year Of The Gentleman
by Catlethea
Summary: Jack, a.k.a. The Gentleman. Tall, suave, human; deadly. What happens when a human hitman gets mixed up in Shadowhunter business-and will he be able to pull himself back out again?  Warning: slash Jem/OMC
1. Chapter 1

I walk into the party with senses wide open, hoping that, just this once, I will not have to get kicked out of or run away from it, since this is a particularly beautiful party, full of lush candlelight and marble, flowing with people just as pale and easy on the eyes as the room that contains them. Yes, I want to stay here, but it is doubtful that I can. In case you hadn't noticed, hitmen don't often go over well at parties; everyone there automatically assumes you're out to kill them and asks the host(ess) to throw you out before you can draw your gun.

This time, I am attending a vampire soiree, so, of course, the repurcussions will be tenfold if they happen to suspect I have blessed bullets on me or something; which I actually do, tucked into the wonderfully convenient inside pocket of my black waistcoat, tailored specially for the occasion, but what they don't know won't hurt them until I start shooting. After all, a man has to protect himself somehow in a room full of centuries-old vampires who-for the most part-would sooner slit his throat than shake his hand.

But there are those select few in every crowd.

With all the grace of a tiger hiding in a doe's skin-all willow tree limbs and swishing white kimono-Heidi, a vampire more commonly known throughout London as The Duchess, approaches me, silent, blond subjugate trailing adoringly behind her; he is not one I've met. Bowing respectfully low-she _is_ the most powerful vampire in this city, and I myself have helped her kill more than a few unlucky souls who had the misfortune of messing with her-and keep my tone distant yet polite, warm. "Duchess."

"Well, if it isn't Gentleman Jack." she replies, tone made of gaseous seduction, and holds out her alabaster left hand for me to kiss. "A distinct pleasure, as always."

"Ah, Duchess," I straighten and smile cordially, "I'm afraid that the pleasure is mine entirely."

With a wave and a giggle, she returns my smile with twice the cheer and a flash of needly fangs behind her pouty lips, then beckons her subjugate. "Oh, Fletcher darling, have you met Jack?"

I shake my head with my smile fixed in place and proffer a hand. "No, I don't believe we have, Mister. . . Fletcher, is it?"

Fletcher, with strangely familiar blond hair in curls, dips his head far lower than he should, his voice very small and respectful. "Good day, sir."

"Please, just call me Jack." I tell him; I know I have seen him somewhere before. Not with The Duchess, though, I haven't done a job for her in months, and he can't have been with her that long. Something about him tugs at my memories, reminding me again just how hazy they are beginning to get; keeping track of so many secrets is certainly taking its toll. I cannot remember.

A cold hand on my upper arm startles me; The Duchess is talking to me. "What brings you here tonight, Jack? A small break for The Gentleman's constant work?"

I manage a tight smile and avoid the question, snatching an envelope from my pocket. "I seem to have secured myself an invitation to this fine event. De Quincey's parties are often quite the event, or so I'm told."

The Duchess nods, raising her thin, brown eyebrows, and comments, "You certainly do get around."

"All in a day's work, Duchess," I modestly mumble with a hint of a shrug. "And I am quite glad to be here, since I am able to see you here. It really has been too long." If The Duchess were human, she would've had a healthy, shell-pink blush to go with her pleased expression; I gesture vaguely to the hubbub around us. "It appears that de Quincey has quite outdone himself this time, don't you agree?"

Her almost-black eyes widen a fraction; I'm using an old code-which she introduced me to-for use in just this sort of situation. What it means is this: _De Quincey is on my hit list. Will you keep quiet?_ I am briefly terrified that she will say no and my cover will be blown, my stolen invite revealed, my life taken; then, with a slight tilt of her head, she concedes, "I should think so. Quite a prestigious gathering, you know."

I smile; she's in, and she's telling me that all the higher-up vampire socialites are present. I could kill two birds with the same stone, simultaneously, if the Shadowhunters don't screw up their side of the bargain. This is exactly why I normally work alone, but apparently the Nephilim feel the need to stick their noses where they are too large to fit and infiltrate Downworld. That sort of thing is all right for a human, a mundane that is easily dismissed, but a Shadowhunter just causes trouble. "So, what's the latest news in your parts? Any gossip to be had?"

"You know I'm no gossip-monger, Duchess, but I have heard rumors."

"Such as?" she prompts, smoothing her already-flawless brown bun.

I lean in a little closer and murmur, "All hell and pandemonium has broken loose, and even the angels can't seem to stop it." Translation: _The Pandemonium Club is turning Downworld upside-down, and the Shadowhunters are so caught up in it all, they barely know where to start. _

"I see," says The Duchess, unconsciously trailing her fingers through Fletcher's maddeningly familiar hair. "Will you stay for the ceremony? I've heard it's going to be quite interesting."

"I've heard something very much the same, my fair Duchess. You know how de Quincey is; the moment something in this city changes, he has to make a big splash to draw every eye back to him." I tease lightly, hoping she reads the implied meaning that something big is going on, and de Quincey's party-and the ceremony accompanying it-are all a ploy for something even bigger.

The Duchess plucks a champagne glass full of blood off a passing tray and delicately takes a sip that turns her lips frighteningly red before whispering, "And what a splash it shall be."


	2. Chapter 2

"Look, there's Magnus Bane." The Duchess murmurs, sending a gentle nudge to my ribs. I glance over my shoulder and spot the warlock weaving his way through party-goers, his eyes fixed on something across the room; it takes me perhaps two seconds to track his gaze and find its destination. Camille-or Not Camille, as she is in truth-is gliding down the marble staircase with noticeably less grace than usual, the crude, dark-haired Shadowhunter at her side. I mentally slap them both; there's no way in this world or the next de Quincey will fall for their act unless they clean it up some.

I sigh, then say to The Duchess, "I would quite enjoy talking to Miss Camille again, wouldn't you, Duchess?"

She nods, delicately taking my arm, and says in a faintly irritated tone, "Yes. I simply must ask her where she found that dress; it doesn't suit her at all."

So The Duchess knows that is Not Camille. Good. It will be just like old times, with the two of us working together towards a killing. I smile, feeling fierce joy and adrenaline pounding inside my skull.

Together, we make our way to the mismatched trio at the foot of the stairs, Fletcher trailing perhaps a yard behind us. Once I am sure he can't hear me, I murmur to The Duchess, "Where did you find him? Fletcher, I mean. He seems a good catch."

"Oh, it's a terribly sad story, I must tell you the whole thing someday. But, to put it simply, I rescued the poor boy from that factory accident perhaps two months ago. You know the one I mean." she replies, significantly arching her slender eyebrow. I nod; the factory "accident" that the Pandemonium Club staged at the textile manufacturer's. "Either way, he was the only one to make it out, horribly sad. He lost his little sister there, loved her to pieces. He was positively heartbroken. But I nursed him back to health, as you can see, and now he lives with me. I'm quite partial to the thought of changing him, you know."

I tip my head to one side in interest. "I see. He'd make a fine vampire, I'm sure. He looks quite strong."

The factory accident. Did I know anyone at Smith's Textiles? Or am I just imagining that I knew Fletcher from somewhere? Heavens above, why is he so familiar?

"Jack, whatever is the matter?" The Duchess inquires, sounding truly worried. "Why do you look so troubled? Are you ill?"

I let out a breath and force myself to focus on my mission, then smile and assured The Duchess, "No, I'm perfectly fine. I was just thinking for a moment, do forgive me."

The Duchess nods, returning my grin, but some worry still resides within her dark eyes. "Good. For a moment, I was worried I'd have to drag you off to a hospital!"

We both laugh good-naturedly at this, and, as we do so, she gently squeezes my arm, signifying her concern for me, but we have no more time to speak; we have reached Magnus Bane's little party and are now face-to-face with Not Camille. The Duchess, being the wonderful actress that she is, quickly breaks away from me and embraces Not Camille with an exclamation of, "Oh, how wonderful to see you again, Camille! You simply must tell me who made your dress this time; I'm just dying to have one like it. Or are you going to disappoint me yet again?"

Not Camille seems taken aback by The Duchess's enthusiastic greeting, but she quickly recovers and, with better form than I had expected, shakes her pretty head. "I'm afraid so, Heidi. I simply cannot recall the maker's name."

The Duchess sighs melodramatically, placing a hand to her head, "Oh, how dreadful! I shall never have a dress as fine as this one! Magnus, do you think you could possibly charm the name out of her for me? I fear I shall live my life unfulfilled if I cannot have a dress like that."

Magnus Bane smiles politely to The Duchess and tells her, "I'm not sure de Quincey would appreciate me casting spells on one of his guests, my fair Duchess. And I'm terribly sorry to say so, but I simply must have a moment alone with my darling Camille."

"Oh!" The Duchess gasps, bringing her hand to her mouth before wagging a finger at the pair. "Naughty, naughty. The two of you will be caught one of these days, no doubt. But for now, I suppose we could. . . guard the door for you. Jack, Fletcher, and I."

The Shadowhunter's eyes flick to me as if to say, "What the hell is going on?" so I put in my two cents: "Yes. Not to worry, we won't let anyone barge in on your, ahem. . . private time. You can rely on us."

Luckily, Magnus Bane is smart enough to take a hint, and he nods gratefully, leading Not Camille away by the hand as he gushes, "I am most grateful to you. Certainly you must know how awful it is to have someone come barging in when you're in the middle of a special moment with your beloved."

Not Camille looks positively humiliated, with her head demurely downcast; damn it all, she's going to ruin this for us. Walking close behind, I hiss in her ear, "Don't react. You need to be more like Camille, or you won't fool a blind man. Back straight, hold your head up. Be proud."

Not Camille gives a faint nod to show she heard and immediately follows my instructions, so I turn to the Shadowhunter and tell him under my breath, "The Duchess is with us, so stop being so suspicious, for pity's sake. And you need to act more like a subjugate; you're drawing way too much attention to yourself."

"Oh, yeah?" he snarls quietly. "And just how am I supposed to-"

"Watch Fletcher." I snap, cutting him off, and instruct, "Do as he does, only to your girl here."

"Her name is Tessa, mundane."

All I want is to grab the Shadowhunter by his shirt front and slam him against a wall, then shake some sense into him; instead, I pinch his arm and warn, "You're treading thin ice, Nephilim. Do as I say, and you won't get caught and drained of every ounce of blood you possess. If they find you out, you will die, backup or no. So I suggest you contain yourself, William."

The Shadowhunter glares at me over his shoulder and growls, "You're not my father, mundane. Stop acting like you are."

As we reach the door to de Quincey's library, I grip his arm so tight, I hope he loses circulation; I can see his hand begin to flush. "Do you want this to work, or do you want to die? Your choice, but if you screw this up for me, I will not hesitate to shoot you through the head, and the consequences be damned. Do we have an understanding, Shadowhunter?"

For half a second, he meets my gaze, trying to assess how serious I am, then his eyes widen as he realizes I'm not joking around; I would kill him in a heartbeat, and it wouldn't bother me in the slightest. In fact, I'd enjoy it. And he can see that, all right there behind my sharp green eyes.

Sucking in a quick breath, the Shadowhunter nods curtly, and I release his arm; I see him rub his wrist as he follows Not Camille and Magnus Bane into the library. Good. A little pain to make sure he's learned his lesson. If he doesn't act more like a subjugate when he comes out, he'll have a lot more coming to him.

I shift my expression to a peaceful, welcome one before I turn around, and post myself on the right side of the door, blocking the doorknob. The Duchess subtly takes up a spot to the left, but looking as though she is facing me to speak, Fletcher mere inches behind her. Then, the three of us settle in to wait. 


End file.
